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Horus hopped down and began proudly introducing the spoils he had gathered.
"This pile here is what they called Valyrian steel. Fourteen blades in total, different sizes.
"Over here two mostly intact suits of armor. One I stripped off the pirate who led us in. The rest are damaged, but you could probably piece together a few more sets."
"And that—" he puffed his chest, "—that golden dragon statue took real effort to dig out, Oh, and I found two dragon eggs. Ate them. Tasted great. I think my dragonfire's stronger now."
Jimmy stared.
"You really need to stop eating random things."
"I followed the food chain. Completely logical," Horus shot back stubbornly.
Jimmy sighed but opened Horus's status panel anyway.
No visible changes.
Fine.
He stored the Valyrian steel and armor in the Horadric Cube.
"There should be plenty of dragonglass around here," Jimmy said. "Let's mine some. Better to prepare early. We'll need it when the White Walkers start marching."
He climbed onto Horus's back and headed toward the volcanic slopes.
…
When Jimmy returned to the Old Wolf's Isle, Gendry was practicing swordplay under Ned Stark's supervision.
Unfortunately, Ice was far too large for him. Even for a tall young man, the greatsword was impractical.
Ice had always been more ceremonial than functional.
No wonder Tywin had it reforged.
Jimmy dropped down from Horus's back, armor battered and scorched.
Ned and Gendry both stiffened.
"Jimmy—what happened to you?"
"Nothing serious," Jimmy waved it off. "Horus had a grudge against Euron. I chased him into the Smoking Sea. Fought a sea monster. Then something even bigger. Picked up some junk in Valyria. Came back."
"Valyria?" Ned repeated.
"Junk?" Gendry crouched over the pile of weapons and armor. "You call this junk?"
He compared the ice in his hand with the scattered blades at his feet.
They looked… identical in material.
"These are all Valyrian steel?" Gendry asked carefully.
"Yeah. Pick whatever you like."
Gendry swallowed.
Valyrian steel was the pinnacle of any smith's dream.
There were more known Valyrian blades here than in all of Westeros combined.
Many were warped or scarred—clearly damaged by something terrible—but still…
Two of the armor sets were salvageable. One fit him. The other was clearly made for a woman.
The rest were dented, melted, or fused together.
Gendry hesitated.
He didn't want to appear greedy.
"Jimmy…"
"Just call me Jimmy. Titles sound ridiculous."
"Jimmy… could you build a forge? I want to try repairing these. I'll need hardwood for hilts and scabbards. Leather for lining armor. A crucible. Casting molds…"
Jimmy nodded at every request.
"Done. But one condition. You forge at night. No smoke during the day. We don't need passing ships noticing us."
That was fine.
Gendry and Ned had little else to do on the island.
Ned's leg had nearly healed.
Jimmy was already thinking ahead.
It was time to bring Catelyn and Robb here.
And the North needed groundwork laid.
If he was going to take down the Night King, he would need allies.
The Riverlands had gone quiet for too long.
It was time to stir things up.
After gathering everything Gendry needed, Jimmy headed south.
To Highgarden.
He needed grain.
A lot of grain.
---
Highgarden might have been the most peaceful place in Westeros.
Unlike Dorne, where tempers flared as quickly as the desert sun and duels or poison were everyday solutions to disagreement—
Unlike King's Landing, where crimson cloaks thundered through the streets and lives meant nothing especially since Joffrey's coronation—
Highgarden felt untouched by war.
Few carried swords.
More carried harps and flutes.
Trees were trimmed to perfection. Roses bloomed in manicured gardens, filling the air with fragrance.
Silk outnumbered steel.
Even the armor worn here was more decorative than practical.
You would never guess a war raged beyond its borders.
Jimmy entered a tavern, ordered food, and listened.
"The North is a mess right now…"
"Our little rose is heading to King's Landing…"
"Did you hear the new ballad Lord so-and-so composed?"
…
"Check," Jimmy said, placing two silver stags on the table. "If you can tell me where to buy grain, one of these is yours."
The innkeeper eyed him.
"You're not a merchant, are you?"
"Why?"
"Merchants know Highgarden's harvest hasn't come in yet. Grain's at its most expensive right now. Buying in bulk now isn't wise."
Jimmy frowned.
"Can I buy it?"
"Of course. It's just not smart."
…
Jimmy hadn't expected his purchase inquiry to escalate into a private meeting.
Now he sat across from Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden.
"Where are you from?" Willas asked calmly.
Jimmy considered.
"The North, more or less. I only want grain. A fair trade. You'll earn House Stark's friendship."
Willas studied him.
"You're aware the Lannisters are seeking alliance with House Tyrell."
Jimmy shook his head.
"No, my lord. The lions seek alliance because wolves are biting them—and a stag's antlers are aimed at their throat."
"If the lion crushes the wolf and drives off the stag," Jimmy continued evenly, "Highgarden is next."
"Lions do not tolerate equals."
"People say Lannisters always pay their debts."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But their words are not about repayment."
"They are about roaring."
"And lions do not share the field with another voice. Anyone who dares speak as loudly must hear the roar."
The room fell silent.
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